Odd Ideas
by iamtherealmaverick
Summary: A collection of plot bunny ficlets about Harry Potter & co. that may or may not develop into something further.
1. A Very Harry Situation

**A Very Harry Situation**

September First found Harry Potter sitting at the Gryffindor table with his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, waiting impatiently for the Sorting to start. He hadn't been at a Sorting since his first year, and he didn't think he'd missed out on anything – really, what was the point in sitting through one every year? They have to have the feast at the end of it, he reflected, or else no one would ever bother to show up.

"Hurry up already," Harry mumbled under his breath. Ron's stomach grumbled loudly in agreement and just as Hermione was leaning over to chastise him, the door swung open to admit Professor McGonagall and the firsties.

As he was busy dreaming about the wonders of the food at Hogwarts, Harry missed the hat's song but he was suddenly startled out of that comfortable dream when he heard McGonagall call out:

"--, Harry."

"Huh?" Harry's head shot up in bewilderment as a little boy with short brown hair approached the stool and McGonagall placed the hat upon his head.

"Shh!" Hermione said from somewhere over on his left.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" called the Sorting Hat.

The little boy made his way over to his table, and McGonagall continued.

"Anderson, Harry."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Arnold, Harold."

This is getting weird, Harry thought. The boy was sorted into Slytherin. Several more, non-Harry names were called, and Harry managed to convince himself that he had just been imagining it; if Snape ever found out; he would never let him live it down. He could just hear it now "You're as self-centered as your father was…"

And then it came:

"Dirk, Harriet."

"Nah, can't be," Harry mumbled.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat.

In quick succession, "Hotter, Parry," "Jackobson, Harry," "Klein, Harry," "Klum, Harrold," "Luft, Harold," and "Luft, Hariette," were sorted into the various houses (most, oddly enough, were sorted into Slytherin.) The names were going by in a blur, and Harry could feel his head spinning. It was getting harder and harder to deny this, whatever it was.

It wasn't, however, until after "Pinkerson, Jamie," (a muggleborn, from the way she was staring at everything around her with a dumbfounded expression) was sorted into Ravenclaw that things took a turn for the surreal…well, more surreal than they had been thus far.

There seemed to be an exceptionally long pause before McGonagall cleared her throat and read off the next name on her list.

"Potter, Harry."

A shocked silence fell over the hall as a tall eleven-year-old made his way over to the stool.

"WHAT?!" Harry Potter…the older one, that is, screamed, shoving himself away from the Gryffindor table and standing up, an expression of confusion all over his face. A loud babble erupted from among the tables.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall's chilly voice rang out, silencing the worst of the commotion. "Kindly take your seat and restrain yourself, or else remove yourself from the hall and see me in my office after the sorting."

Harry could feel his knees softening, and he slumped back onto the bench, his eyes never leaving his head of house.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall turned, her voice softened only minutely as she turned to the young boy who stood frozen in place, several feet away. "Please take your place on the stool so that we may continue with the sorting."

A wave of whispers spread across the hall as the hat descended onto his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Another, louder commotion, and a pale, bewildered young man took his place at the Hufflepuff table beside "--, Harry," whose last name Harry had missed at the beginning of the sorting.

Harry risked a glance around the hall, to find most of it staring right back at him, or looking at the little boy who was trying to hide behind "--, Harry," and his other neighbour, "Clawson, Donatella," a pureblood with some relatives with rather…questionable alliances.

Both Harry Potters (and almost everyone else in the hall as well) missed the rest of the sorting. As "Zizzy, Mooncalf," (the poor sod) was sorted into Gryffindor, a bewildered Harry Potter met an equally bewildered, and somewhat angry Harry Potter's eyes for a moment, which sent a shiver down his – the younger's – spine.

Dumbledore stood up and said some nonsensical phrase, breaking the moment as heaps of food appeared on the tables.

The feast, like the sorting, passed in a blur for our hero Harry Potter, although the other one got along well enough with his housemates, as they got into an in-depth discussion about ghosts, moving paintings, telephones, and the glorious muggle invention called the "internet." After they were dismissed, McGonagall directed the Harry Potter from her house to meet her in her office as she walked over to Professor Sprout for a quick word.

Incensed, Harry Potter stormed the halls, ignoring everyone who called out to him. When McGonagall finally arrived at her office with Sprout and the other Harry Potter, Harry Potter waited only until everyone had stepped inside of her office before he blew up.

"WHAT THE HELL, WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP JOKE IS THIS?"

"Language, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"Really now, let's all sit calmly and discuss this maturely," Sprout said.

"Who put you up to this kid?" Harry Potter demanded of…Harry Potter.

The younger Harry Potter cowered behind his new head of house and the elder Harry Potter quickly found himself bound and gagged in one of _his_ head of house's special chairs for her more uncooperative visitors.

"Now, Mr. Potter," McGonagall spoke soothingly to the younger boy. "There seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding here. It might help if you told us a bit about yourself."

The boy gazed at her, looking for all the world like a shell-shocked victim. Sprout pushed him gently into a waiting armchair and passed him a chocolate bar.

"Lad, could you tell us how you got your name?"

Harry Potter looked warily at the other Harry Potter before directing his words to Sprout.

"Well, me mam always said they named me after me granda," he began. "'e was a great man, 'e was. Fought all those nasty Nazis in the war, ye see. Medals for bravery an' everythin'!"

"Ah, I see," said Sprout.

"Are there any other wizards in your family?" McGonagall asked.

"Nae, mum, I be th' first." Harry Potter responded quietly.

"Well there you have it, Mr. Potter," McGonagall stated, all business once more. "Mr. Potter simply has the same name as you by coincidence. It is, after all, a fairly common name, as you no doubt have guessed. Couple that with the fact that he is a muggleborn, and nothing more need be said. I do believe you owe this young man an apology."

Ignoring her suggest, Harry Potter glared at his head of house.

"And the others?" he demanded. "The Harrys, the Harietts, and the Harolds? What about them?"

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall sighed. "Has it never occurred to you that you are a celebrity in our world?" That Mr. Potter nodded mutely.

"Well, there you have it, people sometimes name their children after celebrities – in both the wizarding and the muggle worlds. It is not an uncommon occurrence."

The Harry Potters sat there gaping at her.

"But 36 of them? In one year?" The older one managed to gasp out.

"41, actually," Sprout broke in. "You must have missed the ones that came after Mr. Potter here."

"Bloody hell," the younger Harry muttered. "You people are insane."

The others stared at the other Harry Potter as he started giggling madly.

"Ooh, Snape must be _loving_ this!"

**The End**


	2. Harry Potter and the Great Escape

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine…the plots or 'plots' are though.**

**Harry Potter and the Great Escape**

_What If Harry agreed with his relatives about wizards being 'freaks'?_

Harry Potter, aged 11, sulked at the back of the line. He had had an absolutely horrible day so far, and – if he had learned anything about this stupid magical world – he was sure that it was about to get even worse. It had all started with being torn away from his family and then forced to run straight at a solid brick wall, and his day had rapidly disintegrated quite rapidly from that point. He wasn't even going to consider the good three quarters of an hour that he had spent hanging over a toilet basin when he found out that chocolate frogs didn't stop jumping when they were in your stomach. He still felt nauseous in fact.

Rather than look up as the students around him gasped and screamed, Harry clutched his eyes tight and wrapped his arms about his rebellious stomach. It was only when one of the clumsier boys of the lot – Nellie or Nathan or something – bumped into him (holding a real slimy jumpy thing – urgh, don't think about it) that Harry started shuffling in time with the others into what the stuffy old lady had referred to as 'the Great Hall.' _What a laugh_. He entered behind some silly bint with bushy hair that was going on about some sort of enchantment, and had to push her aside in order to make his way up to the front. The sooner this stupid farce was over, the better, as far as he was concerned.

The stuffy old lady stood in front of them with an ugly hat, at which point Harry tuned out again, the chocolate frog now attempting to escape by climbing up the way it had come. He was never going to be able to eat chocolate again. Disgusting. Wizards had somehow managed to ruin every good thing in his life since this morning. Bastards. He'd show them.

"Potter, Harry," he heard the old lady call out. The hall erupted into sound, and Harry heard his name bandied about. He refused to bat even so much as an eyelash, and stared sullenly at the floor.

"Potter," the nasty old lady called out louder than before, "Harry." What, did she think he was deaf? Harry continued to ignore her.

"Mr. Potter, please step forward." Nope, not going to, can't make me. Harry thought childishly, folding his arms peevishly.

A bony, wrinkled old hand grabbed his arm and started dragging him forward. Harry whipped his head up, and started kicking and flailing his arms at it with all that he had. His screams of anger sounded feral to most in the hall, but to all those close enough to make out the individual sounds, Harry could be heard to be shouting out things than no 11-year-old should possibly know, let alone believe anatomically possible.

The hand wasn't letting go, so Harry resorted to biting. His teeth sank deep into that frail old skin, and he was proud of the thought that he may have bruised some tendons. Well, the hand finally let go of him at any rate, talons curling up in pain as it withdrew.

"MR. POTTER! What is the meaning of this?" It was a man's voice from somewhere behind him, up at the teacher's table. Harry decided that it was time to share his bad day with everyone. After all, misery loves company.

"You people," He began, screaming "are a bunch of inconsiderate assholes!" Absolute silence fell over the hall. Harry felt his stomach stir a bit, but ignored it for the moment.

"Mr Potter," the old lady shrieked, drawing herself up. "Language, young man!"

Harry stared at her in disbelief.

"Fuck it. Simple terms: You Freaks kidnapped me. I hate all of you. Now send me home and bugger off or I will kill you all the first chance I get."

At all the vaguely horrified looks he was receiving he held up three fingers.

"You've got until the count of three…one," Harry withdrew one finger.

"Two," the chocolate frog reminded him violently of its presence and another finger was withdrawn.

Harry never got as far as three, because at that moment, the chocolate frog made it's bid for freedom, escaping out his mouth. A couple of disgusted (and intrigued) first-years watched as it landed on the Sorting Hat.

"FUCK THREE!" Harry screamed, pulling a long, sharp, wicked looking knife, several hand grenades, and a small atomic bomb out of his pocket. Never mind how they got there, he just happened to have 'em, okay?

"GET ME HOME RIGHT NOW OR I WILL GO RAMBO ON ALL OF YOUR FUCKING ASSES!"

The professors made terrible mistake of attempting to calm the other students rather than subdue Harry Potter and in that single moment, the world was lost.

Harry ripped his sleeves off his cloak, rolling one up to use it as a bandana of sorts. The other, he tied right back on his arm, shoving various odds and ends into the convenient sheath it made.

Smearing some war paint (that came from Merlin only knows where) on his cheeks, Harry ran over to the stool that held the Sorting Hat, and pulled his knife up to it in a threatening manner. He had his first hostage.

"This is your last chance. Send me home now, or the stupid hat gets it."

**And it will go somewhere from here…**


	3. Just Cut It Off

It was nearing the end of November and the Order was once again meeting at headquarters

**Just Cut It Off**

It was nearing the end of November and the Order was once again meeting at headquarters. There had been lots of hustle and bustle about the place, and everyone who needed to be there was there. Reports had been given, and now Dumbledore stood facing the Order in the kitchen.

"So let me get this straight," Moody began. "You've got a horribly evil curse spreading up your arm, and nothing anyone can do is stopping it?"

Dumbledore nodded, pulling up his robe to expose his withered hand and the curse that had progressed halfway up his arm.

"Well that's easy enough to fix," Moody said, pulling out his wand. "Keep your hand steady."

"Wait, what are you going to do?" Poppy asked, her voice sounding ever so slightly panicked.

"He'll be yours in a minute," Moody grinned in the only way he could -- creepily. "_Cutakazam_."

A wicked flash of hot pink light jetted out of his wand and sliced Dumbledore's arm off right below the elbow.

"All done," Moody announced proudly.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Poppy screeched. Every available wand was pointed straight at Moody.

"Fixed it. _Buggeróffiticus._" Moody roared, causing every wand pointed at him to fly up and glue itself to the ceiling.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Tonks yelled, causing several people around her to jump.

"That's right lass," Moody said proudly. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Bleee--eeeeding…" Dumbledore gasped weakly, sinking onto his knees.

"Hmm, right, forgot about that," Moody mumbled. "_Hotflamingfirepainishness._" The wound at the end of Dumbledore's stump sealed itself off in a lovely flare of cauterization and the scent of burnt flesh permeated the kitchen.

"Murk!" Dumbledore gasped before tumbling face first onto the floor, unconscious.

Meanwhile, Poppy was jumping up on her chair and managed to somehow unstick her wand from the ceiling, although it seemed to have acquired a persistent layer of lime green goop. When she saw the headmaster fall over, she raced over to his side, spells spewing from her lips.

"_Diagnosisisisis_."

A pretty purple cloud hovered over the headmaster, and she did a double take.

"_Diagnosisisisis,"_ she said again.

A second purple cloud rewrote the first, with sparkles in it this time.

"I don't believe it," Snape breathed in…well, it sure wasn't awe.

"Blimey." Ron, it seemed, had come down for a midnight snack.

"Too bad it wasn't your head," Sir Nicholas sighed wistfully. No one quite knew why he was there either…or how he was there, for that matter.

"Gasp," came from a lot of the other people before…

"So what does it mean," Sirius asked seriously.

"It's gone," Poppy said.

"Well DUH!" Sirius responded.

"Moody just severed it right in front of us," Tonks added helpfully.

Poor dear, she really needs to take a vacation, Molly realized. I don't want her taking care of my children in that state. She immediately bustled off to prepare a tray of tea a biscuits for the frazzled nurse.

"The curse, you imbeciles, not his arm!" Snape was apparently at the end of his patience.

"Thanks mom," Ron grunted through a mouthful of biscuit, having stolen the tray as she was on her way to Poppy.

"Mmm Ginger," Sirius drooled, reaching out towards Ron.

"Hey now, you're a nice bloke and all, but I'll have you know I'm into girls," Ron sputtered in protest. His grip on the tray loosened and Sirius managed to duck out the door with it before Ron could even think of following.

"Damn, ginger snaps are my faves," Tonks muttered. "Wonder if he'll share…" she wandered out after Sirius, leaving the chaos in the kitchen behind.

**Hopefully The End.**

**A/N: Hmm, I had a lot of fun with that one…did anyone else wonder why Dumbledore didn't just have his arm amputated? Sure would have saved a lot of trouble. Stupid canon.**


End file.
